


Down to the Bones

by Kerichi



Series: Star Trek Alternate Timeline [3]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Acting on feelings, Call me Bones, Dem bones, Enterprise, F/M, Faulkner and ex-fiancees, How Bones met Christine, Is there a problem?, Kentucky bourbon, Nurse Chapel meets Doctor McCoy, Nurses do it with intensive care, Of all the pubs in all of San Francisco, Officer's Lounge, Out of uniform, Sulu and sashimi, Tableside manner, Triage, Tuvix plants, Wild stallions, no regrets, sickbay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 08:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8198365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerichi/pseuds/Kerichi
Summary: He was born with a gift of sarcasm, and the sense that his friend was mad. The night before Jim's hearing, McCoy goes to a bar to drown his worries and encounters a woman he thinks he won't see again. He will.





	1. McCoy

Jim was mad for retaking the Kobayashi Maru, crazier still for cheating, and out of his farm boy mind for going on a date the night before his hearing. McCoy didn't share his friend's brash optimism that he could talk his way out of trouble. Jim was facing academic suspension. Since he was too deluded to acknowledge the possibility, however, McCoy would have to drink for the both of them.

The bar he chose was within staggering distance of the Academy. Most cadets didn't frequent it. The small Irish pub advertised no karaoke or free beer, only Celtic folk music on Saturday nights. McCoy was an infrequent patron. Most of the time, the memory of his ex-wife crying to the judge about her "no 'count drunk" husband was enough to keep him following Aristotle's path of moderation in all things.

This was one of his detours.

The interior of the pub was dark and cozy. A couple of old men in fisherman caps perched on leather-padded barstools. A slow night. The air smelled of hops and something that took McCoy back to his grandmama's house in Mississippi. He walked up to the woman polishing the bar a few feet away from her customers. "Is that beeswax polish?"

She looked up with smile. "Yes, I mixed a little lavender oil in with the lemon this batch. Do you like it?"

"Very much." He liked her looks, too. She wasn't the usual blue-eyed California blonde. Her skin was pale, her hair pulled back in a style that was soft, yet professional. Attractive.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm Chris. Welcome to The Plough and Stars, Mr. . . ."

"McCoy."

"Nice to meet you. My uncle Johnny is the bartender, I'm just helping out for a few minutes, but if you want something that's not on tap or from a bottle, I'll be happy to mix it if you walk me through the steps."

One of the old men held up a wide-mouthed shot glass. "She makes a damn fine Astro Pop!"

Chris shook her head. "That's my first and last one, Mr. Foley. It took me forever to pour five layers of alcohol. You have to go easy on me next time."

McCoy said, "I'll have Kentucky bourbon. Neat."

"That's easy." She put away the polish and cloth and washed her hands before choosing a brandy snifter from the array of glasses behind the bar. "Should I make it a double?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Foley said, "That's going to make your hair stand on end!"

"Like quills upon the fretful porpentine." McCoy took a drink.

" _Hamlet!"_ Chris said. "You know your Shakespeare."

Her admiring smile was a welcome change from the blank looks he usually received when quoting the Bard. Too many people watched stories instead of reading them. McCoy said, "I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul. _"_

Chris said, "I'd like to hear it."

McCoy blinked. Was she flirting with him? It had been a while since he'd attempted to navigate the treacherous waters of romantic relationships. He was the oldest in his year group at Starfleet Academy and had little in common with most female cadets of his acquaintance. Their life experiences were radically different. Chris was older—mid to late twenties—and radiated a quiet maturity.

A couple McCoy recognized as the usual bartenders walked through the front door. The woman, a pixie-sized redhead, rushed over to Chris. "Thanks for minding the pub. You're an angel." She patted her stomach. "Baby O'Brian is the tiniest thing, but he's got all his parts, and I've promised to eat my fruit and veg." She turned her bright gaze on McCoy and the drink in his hand. "Hullo. No Georgia-style mint julep tonight?" She winked at Chris. "You won't forget this one. He's a real Southern gentleman."

"I appreciate that." Chris turned to McCoy. "If you plan to stay awhile Nola can mix your usual drink and I'll deliver it to your table."

She wanted to talk. She was interested.

"I'm not much of a storyteller," he said. If she expected him to lay on the Southern charm, she'd be disappointed. He didn't have regular charm, much less Southern.

Chris didn't take offence at his bluntness. She asked, "Have you read any good books lately?"

" _As I Lay Dying,_ by William Faulkner."

"I'd love for you to tell me about it."

McCoy nodded, flattered by her interest. What could it hurt? "I don't want the usual," he said. "Make it bourbon with a cube of ice."

He chose a table in the back corner and finished off his drink. When Chris joined him, she held a teacup in one hand and a narrow, cylindrical tumbler in the other. She handed him the bourbon.

"Why does a single ice cube change the glass a drink's served in?" she asked.

"The snifter's used to concentrate the aroma. Once a splash of water or ice is added . . ." He shrugged. "Things change. What are you drinking?"

"Chamomile tea."

"As an herbal remedy?" He didn't discount folk medicine as long as it didn't jeopardize a patient's health.

"To relax," she said. "I'm a little nervous. I haven't done this in—" She laughed a little. "I'd be embarrassed to say how long."

That made two of them. McCoy glanced at her ring finger and wasn't surprised to see a white line on fair skin. "Recently divorced?"

"Broken engagement."

He didn't say "sorry" because he wasn't. If she were still with the stupid son of a bitch, McCoy would be drinking alone. He sipped his bourbon, enjoying the smooth glide down his throat.

Chris said, "Faulkner sounds like an author I should remember from Classic American Lit."

"Did you major in English?" he asked. She was well spoken. Intelligent.

"Bio-research. I left the field for—for something else." Chris touched the side of his glass with a fingertip. "Things changed."

The pain in her voice was the kind with which he was intimately familiar. "I'm sorry," he said.

Another woman would have taken his sympathy as an invitation to pour out her life story. Chris smiled determinedly. "What about you?" she asked. "Are you an English professor?"

"I enjoy reading, but I'm a doctor, not a professor."

He waited for the barrage of questions about his occupation and income. She said, "What did you enjoy about the book you mentioned?"

It took him a moment to gain his mental balance. "It's about a proud, bitter woman, her family, her Southern community." McCoy started telling Chris about the book and the multiple narratives. He shared some of the black humor. It felt good to laugh.

"You lied, you're a great storyteller," she said. "You had my sides aching with laughter imagining that poor woman's corpse falling out of the casket and into the river."

McCoy was uncomfortable with compliments. "Don't feed my ego. I'll start to think I can cure a rainy day."

"Maybe you can."

His gaze dropped to her mouth. "I'll offer to make a house call." He was surprised at how badly he wanted to kiss her. "And I don't make house calls."

"Never?"

"Not for a long time. I was top of my class in anatomical and forensic pathology." He felt like a schoolboy, bragging.

She looked impressed and amused. "Does that mean your . . . patients . . . flock to you?"

It had to be the bourbon. He snickered. "Nope. I have a terrible bedside manner."

"No."

"Yep. I'm abrasive. Blunt. Cantankerous." He could probably go through the alphabet.

"I don't believe it," she said. "Your tableside manner is so charming." Her eyes danced.

He smirked. Jim-boy wasn't the only one who was deluded.

Thoughts of Jim and the hearing pricked McCoy's conscience. He wouldn't be much of a friend if he drank all night and showed up with a hangover, or made a "house call" and slept through the hearing. "Will you be here tomorrow night?" he asked. "I have a friend who needs my support—whether he realizes it or not—but afterward, I want to see you again."

"I'll be here."

He glanced around the room, irritated to see that during the time they'd spent together the bar had gone from near-empty to packed with customers. The whistles and claps of rowdy drunks shouldn't accompany a first kiss.

McCoy took her hand and brought it to his lips, glad Jim wasn't there to laugh his head off. "Chris . . . what's that short for?"

"Christine."

"Lovely name. It suits you." He bid her goodnight.

"What's McCoy short for?" she called after him.

He chuckled. "Bones."

 

The next morning, he awoke with the feeling that something good was going to happen. Hours later, he figured the universe had a twisted sense of humor and the warm fuzziness should have warned him the day would go to hell.

Jim's academic suspension . . . the distress call from Vulcan . . . the commissioning of cadets . . . using a vaccine to cause an illness in order to get Jim onto the Enterprise shuttle . . . racing to sickbay . . . McCoy didn't think his stress levels could spike any higher.

And then Jim had an allergic reaction.

McCoy looked at the posted duty roster, read the first name, and yelled, "Nurse Chapel! I need fifty ccs of cortisone!"

Somewhere behind him, a woman answered, "Yes, sir!"

He didn't have time to order the woman to move her ass. His patient was leaving the treatment area. Cursing beneath his breath, McCoy ran to catch Jim.

By the time he returned, all medical personnel were assembled in sickbay, preparing to put their training into practice as the ship readied for combat. "Nurse Chapel!" McCoy barked, intending to tear a verbal strip off her hide.

An attractive blonde with her hair pulled back in a style that was soft, yet professional, stepped forward.

_Christine!_ McCoy stared in disbelief and then gestured for her to accompany him into the corridor.

The moment the sickbay doors shut, she said, "My apologies for not being able to assist you immediately, sir. I was treating a crewman for minor lacerations."

"You didn't tell me you were a nurse," he said.

"You didn't tell me you were a Starfleet doctor."

_Women!_  They had the infuriating ability to turn everything around so the man took the blame. "You should have asked," he said. "It had to occur to you that there was a possibility—"

"That you were a  _cadet_? That Vulcan would be attacked and we would be assigned to the same starship? How would that ever occur to me?" Her cheeks were pink, her eyes electric blue. "I'm a nurse, not a psychic."

He was a heartbeat away from grabbing her and doing something rash when the doors to sickbay opened.

Dr. Puri, the chief medical officer, asked, "Is there a problem, Dr. McCoy?"

"No. No problem."

"Excellent. Resume your station, Nurse Chapel."

McCoy couldn't stop himself from watching her. "Who assigned Chapel to this ship, anyway?"

"I don't know," Puri said. "But I like her."

McCoy followed the commander into sickbay.  _So do I._

_Dammit._

 


	2. Chapel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuvix plants, sickbay, and tea without synthehol.

Christine returned to sickbay, using a breathing exercise to calm her turbulent emotions.

 _Inhale. Hold. Exhale._   _Count to four. Count to seven. Count to eight._

She'd been thrilled to see McCoy's name on the duty roster, filled with hope that he was the man she'd met the night before. There had been a connection between them, an instant attraction. She had looked forward to getting to know him and discovering where their attraction might lead.

McCoy seemed to feel the same way when he first recognized her. She hadn't imagined the surprised pleasure on his face. Then his expression darkened.

 _Abrasive. Blunt. Cantankerous._ His self-descriptions were maddeningly accurate. She should have  _asked_ where he worked? Should have  _known_ they would end up on the same starship? He was infuriating!

And yet, if he'd kissed her she would have twined herself around him like a Tuvix plant seeking to merge and propagate. Anger wasn't the only emotion McCoy inspired. He had started to reach for her in the split-second before the doors opened. His eyes flared, his hands lifted. She'd been eager to meet him halfway.

Thinking about it made her lose count. She switched to slow, deep breathing and kneaded the point on the inside edge of her wrist bone with her thumb.

"Self therapy, lieutenant?" Ensign Ruiz, the crew physiotherapist, strolled over to her station. "Works better than a hypospray, I'll bet."

His boyish face was anxious. Christine sympathized. The transition from Academy to Federation starship was stressful enough, and that was before the captain declared battle stations. When they met on the shuttle, Ruiz joked that he'd completed his emergency medical training just in time. If he had any worries about competency, only experience would put them to rest.

"It's acupressure," Christine said. "I'll show you." It would help him relax, and she had time. The examination area was stocked, her medical tricorder secured on its strap across her chest, ready for use.

She was showing Ruiz another point on his wrist when Dr. Puri called for attention.

"Patients trust us with their lives," Puri said in his crisp English accent. "Make the care of the patient your first concern. Work with colleagues in the ways that best serve patients' interest, and act with integrity." His dark gaze made contact with each staff member. "The scope of what we face is yet unknown, but of this I am certain—the Enterprise crew will receive the best of care, for you are the best of Starfleet."

Ruiz clapped and then said, "Sorry, Doctor. I was just . . . that was . . . thanks."

"You're quite welcome, Ensign Ruiz," Puri said. "I meant every word."

Christine glanced at McCoy, who stood beside the primary biobed in the center of the room. He exuded the same air of authority as the chief medical officer, something patients would find more reassuring than a genial bedside manner. She caught his eye and smiled. Their personal issues were trivial compared to the situation at hand. They were part of the same team and she was glad he was there.

A request for emergency assistance sent Dr. Puri to Deck Six. Christine was disappointed not to be chosen to accompany him. She inventoried her supplies again and shook her head when Ensign Ruiz asked if she'd like him to double check to ensure her biofunction monitor operated properly. Before Christine could tell him that she'd already triple checked her equipment, an explosion rocked sickbay. The shock impact slammed her to the floor. Her knees stung.

_I should have worn trousers instead of a skirt._

A second blast ripped through the chamber.

Cries of pain echoed. Electrical fires filled the air with smoke. Power failed. A voice yelled for the computer to employ emergency lighting. McCoy's voice.

Christine scrambled to her feet. She had to help the injured.

The auxiliary power switched on.

"Nurse Chapel!"

She ran towards McCoy. He was kneeling beside a colleague who had fallen among the wreckage.

"I'll attach the surgical support frame to the central biobed," she said in a rush. "The Overhead Sensor Cluster's automatic containment field will have prevented contamination."

McCoy shook his head. "He's dead, Christine."

"Then why—"

He stood and looked into her eyes. "We're deep within the Enterprise and heavily damaged. Imagine what happened to the rest of the ship." Unspoken was the possible grim fate of Dr. Puri. "This is a mass casualty incident and you're officially head of triage," McCoy said. "Get ready."

  


While McCoy directed the surgery teams, Christine chose Johnson and Davis, nurses like her with a recent senior practicum in an Emergency department, to assist her in examining patients and determining the appropriate level of treatment.

Ensign Ruiz and Petty officers Williams and Kowalski, lab technicians, volunteered to stand by to transfer those who required life-sustaining measures.

Although the emergency response team operated medical aid stations throughout the ship to provide basic first aid, the injured rapidly filled the corridor outside sickbay.

Some crewmembers were walking wounded. They had soft tissue injuries and broken bones without multiple fractures. An injection for pain management was given along with instructions to return to quarters and report back when called—after the higher priority wounded received assistance. Others required advanced care yet were stable enough to allow a delay of treatment. They remained in sickbay, closely monitored, until a doctor was available.

Patients in critical condition were taken directly to surgery. Soon, the overflow of patients required doctors to perform operations and treat patients in the intensive care ward as well.

The news of Dr. Puri's death was a blow to everyone. Planet Vulcan's destruction made the day even more unreal. How could a single Romulan vessel destroy seven Federation ships and an entire planet? Patients had questions too. Ones she couldn't answer.

_Between Vulcan and Earth, there are only the half dozen vessels parked around Earth's spacedock?_

_All the other ships in the fleet are in another system?_

_No ship is defending the founding worlds?_

_No planet has its own weapons or defenses?_

The grumbling ceased when Vulcan survivors joined those waiting for treatment. Stoic and dignified, they insisted on receiving no special preference.

Hours flew by. Christine began dividing her time between the assessment of new patients and frequent re-triage of those waiting in biobeds. Adrenaline kept her going. When Ensign Ruiz brought her a cup of tea between patients, she stared at it vacantly. "What's this?"

"Nurse Johnson said you were the green tea type."

"I am. Thank you." She sipped the tea and asked, "Is the rest of the staff aware our synthesizer is functional?"

"Yes, ma'am. Petty Officer Williams took care of that. Doctor Eliot ordered an iced coffee, but the rest mostly asked for water."

"What did Dr. McCoy want?"

"Romulan ale."

Christine almost choked on her tea. "That's illegal, an instant drunk. He had to be joking."

"I figured that when he said, 'or coffee, with or without a splash of bourbon'." Ruiz's gaze twinkled.

She narrowed her eyes. "How many sisters do you have, ensign?"

"Four."

He was the little brother who got away with teasing, she'd bet. Christine said, "I'm an only child."

Ruiz grinned, unabashed.

Halfway through a double shift, Christine sent the other triage nurses to get some rest. The flood of patients had become a trickle.

"I'll be back in eight hours," Nurse Johnson said. "You need sleep as much as we do."

Christine said, "If I see either of you in less than ten, I'm assigning you bed pan duty."

"What are bed pans?" Nurse Davis asked.

"I heard about them from my great grandmother," Nurse Johnson answered. "I'll tell you." They left sickbay

The next time the turbo doors opened, a faint  _Ewww_ was heard.

Christine's amusement faded when she scanned her next patient, an engineering technician who had fallen and struck the side of his head while making a repair. "I never lost consciousness, I felt OK," he said, "until this headache started squeezing my brain. My fiancée is on the emergency response team. She sent me to sickbay."

What he felt was the buildup of blood. The tricorder's scanner revealed the lens-like shape of an epidural hematoma. Technician First Class Roberts required neurosurgery.

Unfortunately, Dr. Gottesman was currently operating on another patient. It was time to follow protocol.

"Ensign Ruiz, cover my station. Mr. Roberts, come with me." Christine led her patient through sickbay to the coffin shaped device located near the intensive care unit. She activated it. "The stasis chamber will suspend cellular activity until the time we can effect proper treatment." She assisted him into the chamber and said, "You'll see your fiancée soon, Roger."

It wasn't until the green status light blinked on that Christine realized she'd said the wrong name.

It was an understandable mistake. She'd once been a fiancée who worried and waited for her lover. Roger Korby never returned from his mission, but Technician Roberts would. She blinked away the tears pricking her eyes.

At the end of her shift, Christine gave a report to Johnson and Davis and left the lower priority patients who were returning for care in their capable hands. She was too drained to respond more than half-heartedly when they joked about replicating a bedpan.

In the turbolift, she impulsively said, "Officers' lounge."

  


The off-duty lounge was packed. Christine found the hum of conversation and dimmed lighting soothing. Every man and woman in the room was healthy—at least for the moment—and no one needed her for anything. She was free to sit and relax.

Christine lost track of time. Her eyes were growing heavy when a voice said, "How much synthehol is in that tea? You're practically asleep on your feet."

"I'm sitting down," she said, tilting her head to smile at McCoy. "Wanna join me?"

"I've finished my drink and that was a figure of speech, like it never rains but it pours."

"I like your figure. Of speech," Christine added belatedly. It hit her that he'd stopped by her table on the way out. "You wanted to drink alone?"

"I inherited responsibilities in a way I didn't want and lost a friend today. I'm not feeling sociable."

"I'm sorry."

"He was marooned on Delta Vega," McCoy said. "If I know Jim, he won't stay long. Anyway, I came over to say Technician Roberts is recovering and he and his fiancée are determined to name their first child after you."

Christine got misty. "That's sweet. I'm happy for them." She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands.

McCoy said, "Allow me to escort you to your quarters." His tone made the request an order.

She found herself on her feet and steadied by his arm around her waist. "People might get the wrong idea about this," she said.

McCoy lifted a brow. "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

Christine sighed. "I like your accent too." She concentrated on walking a straight line and only staggered a couple of times on the way to the turbolift. The second time, her nose ended up pressed against the curve of his neck. She said, "Did you take a sonic shower? You smell nice." Christine heaved another sigh, one regretful instead of dreamy. "I probably don't smell nice."

"You smell fine," he said, steering her into the turbolift.

"Fine-OK or fine-good?" For some reason, she had to know.

"Good," he said tersely. He maneuvered her into the corridor when the doors opened. Three science officers of varying junior grades were waiting to enter. They bid Christine and Dr. McCoy good evening and stared at them curiously until the doors of the turbolift shut.

Christine could imagine the gossip. "Maybe they weren't going to the lounge," she said.

"High heels aren't regulation footwear."

"Oh." A question came to mind. "How do you know where my quarters are?"

"The ship's computer."

It made sense that kind of information was available to the chief medical officer. Christine was wondering when he'd asked the computer and why as they arrived at her quarters.

McCoy frowned when the door slid open.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"You should program a higher level of security. Voice print as well as face recognition."

"I'll do it later."

"It'll only take a few seconds." He strode inside.

She trailed after him. It was the first time she'd taken stock of her quarters. The decorating scheme reminded her of high-end hotel room, sleek and expensive. The double-width sleeping platform dominated the space. She sat on the edge and tugged at her boot.

"All set," McCoy said, turning away from the comm center.

Christine lifted her leg. "I can't get this off."

He leaned down and touched the side seam. It unzipped.

"I forgot," she said. "My cadet boots pulled on." She freed her feet and wriggled her toes

McCoy said, "There are blue whales on those socks."

"And if I move them like this it looks like they're swimming." She flexed her feet. "See?"

"Black is regulation."

Christine took off her socks and dropped them on the floor. She stood to face McCoy. "Are you going to report me for being out of uniform?"

He smiled slightly. "No, but I recommend you avoid synthehol-based drinks in the future. The chemical variation of alcohol obviously relaxes you to the point of impairment."

"I'm tired, maybe a little loopy. Not  _impaired_. All I had was tea." She closed the space between them. "Check if you don't believe me."

McCoy bent his head. His mouth hovered over hers.

She tensed in anticipation, transfixed by the intensity of his eyes and the strength of her desire to feel his embrace. She parted her lips, wordlessly offering. Demanding.

Christine trembled when McCoy kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I invented the "Tuvix plant" Christine refers to in homage to Star Trek: Voyager. In season two, episode 25, Tuvix, a malfunction with the transporter created by alien plant life they collected causes Tuvok and Neelix to merge into one life form (Brings new meaning to the phrase "one flesh" and seemed to fit the moment).  
> The instruction part of Dr. Puri's speech came from the UK General Medical Council's Duties of a Doctor. I felt that it was appropriate for a Brit to use the duties he was taught to motivate his staff, and the modern version of the Hippocratic Oath doesn't flow trippingly on the tongue. The crew questions are direct quotes from the Barking Alien blog. I can't remember how I came across it or why I read Adam Dickstein's review of the movie, but when I did, I instantly wanted to use his questions. The Romulan Ale and "it never rains but it pours" quote came from Wrath of Khan. "Frankly my dear" is from Gone With The Wind (no Southerner could resist using that line).
> 
> Since I'm a writer, not a doctor, dammit, :D, I researched everything from sickbay info and triage to battleship dressing stations on aircraft carriers. I imagined the fury on Bones' face if some crewmember showed up to sickbay needing only a bandage and antiseptic and made sure those who needed minor treatment had somewhere else to go! Snythehol is served on starships and gives the buzz and taste of alcohol without "debilitating intoxication, addiction, and alcohol poisoning" (according to Memory Alpha).


	3. Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking personal rules, bring your dad to work day, and wild stallions.

He never should have entered her quarters. He should have known that once inside he wouldn't leave. His willpower wasn't that strong. A kiss. A beseeching look. His resolve crumbled and McCoy stayed, lulled by the warmth of Christine's body.

When his communicator beeped, he awoke with a start.

"McCoy here." He checked his watch. He'd slept for two hours.

The voice of Lieutenant Uhura, communications officer, responded smoothly, "The captain asks that you join him on the bridge, Doctor."

An order couched as a request. The pointy-eared bastard was polite, McCoy would give him that much. "I'm on my way."

He watched Christine stretch and push tousled blonde hair away from her face. She said, "That's one benefit of sleeping in your uniform. Instant readiness."

"I still have to put on my boots." He took his time as Christine scooted across the mattress to sit beside him. McCoy admired the contrast of creamy skin against the black fabric of her short-sleeve undershirt and matching shorts.

She said, "Thank you for staying with me. I've made it through worse by myself, but it was nice not to be alone."

"You're welcome." He jerked his head toward a side door. "Mind if I use the facilities?" His mother would have asked to "freshen up." McCoy wasn't that dainty, even if he did prefer euphemism to a crude request to use the toilet.

"Be my guest, and feel free to borrow my toothbrush."

The ultrasonic vibrations of a sonic toothbrush employed the same technology as the sonic shower. It wasn't an intimate act to use the blasted thing. He was an idiot to hesitate. Did he want to treat the crew to morning breath? "Thanks," he said gruffly.

He returned to find Christine had changed into a robe. His eyes dropped to the vee. No fabric showed, only skin. He said, "If you're thinking about reporting for duty, don't. I'm chief medical officer and I say you need more sleep."

"I—"

"No excuses. Show up in sickbay when you aren't rested and you'll be the one on bedpan duty." He cocked an eyebrow. "Didn't think I'd heard about that, did you?"

"I hadn't thought about it," she said. "I—"

"Shower if you like, but then get into your nightgown or what-have-you and go back to bed." He overrode whatever protest she planned to make. "That's an order, Lieutenant." He turned on his heel. This wasn't a morning-after situation. Leaving without a kiss or promising they'd talk soon wasn't ungentlemanly. It was prudent. He was expected on the bridge, and later he would see her in sickbay. They could speak then—in his office, perhaps. Kissing would have to wait until they were off duty.

Christine said, "I never planned to do anything but sleep. That isn't why I'm wearing a robe."

McCoy stopped in his tracks. When she didn't finish her explanation, he looked back over his shoulder.

She lifted her chin. "I sleep naked, Commander."

He could think of only one thing to say. "Call me Bones."

"Call me Chris."

McCoy nodded brusquely and exited before he reversed his decision about kissing.

"Why not? You've already broken your biggest rule," he grumbled on his way to the turbolift. Since med school, he'd avoided dating colleagues. Gossip. Separating personal emotions from the professional relationship. The list of hassles and difficulties was long. Were the potential benefits worth it?

In the lift, he tapped his communicator badge. "Christine Chapel," he said.

A couple of seconds passed. "Chapel speaking."

"I can't call you Chris," he said. "It isn't feminine enough. I'm calling you Christine. Off duty. Otherwise it's Nurse Chapel."

"All right, Bones."

Her voice was soft and husky. And she slept nude. His imagination was veering into dangerous territory. He had to regain focus. "I just wanted to get that straight," he said. "McCoy out."

 

On the bridge, the acting captain irritatingly showed no signs of fatigue. McCoy mentally prepared to answer questions about the status of injured personnel. "You wanted to see me?"

Spock surprised him by saying, "I am aware supporting me must have been difficult."

The statement was so preposterous, McCoy almost laughed. Talk about an understatement! Might as well call the labors of Hercules a few chores, or Sisyphus pushing a boulder uphill for eternity rock and roll. He said, "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"I welcome it."

McCoy took the Vulcan at his word.

Spock listened and then responded in a way that proved he knew diddlysquat about horses or human decency. A stallion would never  _reach his full potential_ if put to pasture. Shunting Jim off to some godforsaken outpost wasn't doing anyone any damned good either.

The green-blooded hobgoblin had a different viewpoint.

Outranked, McCoy had to live with it. What was done was done. He couldn't bring Jim back. McCoy decided to check on the progress of the repairs to the medical bay. Anger worked on his system like a pot of hospital coffee. He was wide-awake.

 

In the main sickbay, all Bio-beds except one were fully functioning. McCoy commended the engineer determined to rebuild the last, heavily damaged unit.

Two nurses approached. Johnson, a petite blonde, and Davis, a lanky brunette, reminded McCoy of a duo from one of his grandfather's books of classic comics: Mutt and Jeff.

"Doctor, we have a situation," Johnson said. "A Lieutenant McKenna was brought aboard for treatment by his attending physician."

 _I thought I was the only one to use that trick._ "Why isn't the doctor treating his patient?"

"Grier's dead, sir. I've repeatedly told the lieutenant that you have a hectic schedule, and he'll have to wait to be declared fit for duty. McKenna insists you'll give him an up chit." Johnson's irritation with the lieutenant's persistence was evident in her voice.

Davis' tone was more sympathetic. "He's very distraught."

Johnson said, "We thought if you could spare a few minutes . . ."

"I could grease the wheel and stop it squeaking?" McCoy asked dryly.

Davis said, "Oh no, sir, McKenna's voice doesn't squeak. It has a lilt."

"He's Irish." Johnson's expression said _excuse my colleague, she doesn't get the joke_.

McCoy shrugged. It had been more of a figure of speech, anyway. "Tell him to report to my office in five minutes."

"Yes, sir!" Davis scurried off.

Johnson handed him a personal access display device. "I took the liberty of pulling up his medical record."

McCoy scanned the patient data.

On the morning of Jim's hearing, Lieutenant Fial McKenna reported to sick call for chronic cough and chest pain. A scan revealed multiple opacities in both lung fields while immunoserologic testing identified Paragonimus-specific antibodies. A cytology examination detected eggs in the sputum.

After confirming paragonimiasis, infection by the lung fluke Paragonimus westermani, Dr. Grier administered the initial dose of an anthelmintic drug. He didn't live to administer the second, final treatment.

McCoy asked Johnson, "Did you also take the liberty of preparing a hypospray of Triclabendazole?"

"No, sir, but I'll prepare it stat."

He walked to the CMO's office located near the medical lab. Puri never got the chance to hang pictures. The walls were bare except for a large schematic of the Enterprise. McCoy didn't think his antique poster showing a doctor holding a test tube and a speech balloon reading  _son, we found blood in your alcohol stream_  would set the right tone. The office would remain undecorated.

His patient was a minute early. "Lieutenant McKenna reporting, sir!" The eager officer's appearance was stereotypically Irish: ginger hair and freckles.

McCoy waved him to a chair. "How'd you pick up lungworms, Lieutenant?"

"I went to a party, sir. There was sashimi and I ate the crab kind."

"Along with the metacercariae of the parasites that broke through your intestinal wall and worked their way up through your diaphragm to mature in your lungs."

McKenna rubbed his chest. "I feel grand, though. Aren't I cured?"

Nurse Johnson had been waiting in the doorway. McCoy gestured for her to enter. "Not yet. After this dose—and twelve hours rest—I'll re-evaluate your condition."

Johnson efficiently injected the hypospray.

"OWW!"

"Next time try sushi," she said. "The crab meat's cooked."

McKenna's glare followed Johnson out the door. "She jabbed that hard on purpose."

"You wanna file a complaint?"

"Feck no! Em, no, sir!" McKenna gave a sheepish grin. "I deserved it. I dogged her sommat fierce."

McCoy said, "Take her advice about the sushi, or try deviled crab cakes or crab etouffee."

"I will." McKenna gazed wistfully at the Enterprise schematic. "It should have been me at the helm. Whatever kind of luck Sulu has, it beats the hell out of mine."

"What are you talking about?" McCoy glanced at the PADD. There was no documentation of other cases of paragonimiasis.

"Sulu was at the party," McKenna said. "He ate the crab too."

McCoy didn't waste time. He picked up a tricorder and headed for the bridge.

 

The acting captain glanced up from whatever he was showing his father at the science station. Was it bring your dad to work day? The instant after the thought ran through his mind, McCoy was ashamed of being snide. Spock just lost his mother. Sarek, his wife. Whether or not they showed grief, they had to feel it. He should be more compassionate.

"Doctor McCoy, I did not request your presence," Spock said.

"This isn't a social call. I'm ensuring helmsman Sulu is fit for duty."

_I didn't curse. That was considerate._

Sulu stepped forward. "If this is in regard to what happened earlier, sir, I didn't remain in sickbay because I wasn't injured compared to others waiting. A medic treated my cuts with a dermal regenerator at an aid station."

"And did an excellent job," McCoy said.

"What precisely are you looking for, Doctor?" Spock peered at the tricorder screen.

"Patchy density linear infiltrations, nodular lesions, inflammation of the pleura." McCoy didn't offer to explain the terms—the human computer likely already knew them. He told Sulu harshly, "McKenna has lungworms from the crab you both ate and you never thought to get tested?"

"A dozen of us ate crab. I never had any symptoms."

"Infected patients can be asymptomatic."

"Lacking obvious signs or symptoms of disease despite the presence of a pathologic condition," said Spock.

"From the Greek  _a,_  without," Sulu said, "and  _symptoma,_  that which happens."

McCoy huffed in reluctant amusement. "Now that we've all displayed erudition, I'm pleased to announce you are in excellent health, Mr. Sulu."

"Thank you, sir."

McCoy had one more patient to attend. He walked over to Sarek. "Pardon me, Ambassador. This will only take a minute." He adjusted the tricorder.

Spock asked coolly, "Are you implying my father did not avail himself of a doctor's care in sickbay?"

"It seemed illogical to do so," Sarek said. "As Mr. Sulu stated, I was not injured."

McCoy tried not to smirk at the Vulcan son unable to refute his father's logic. "Humor me."

"An interesting phrase," Sarek said. "Amanda used it whenever I questioned the necessity of satisfying her odd cravings during pregnancy."

"Like pickles and peanut butter?"

Sarek smiled faintly. "Indeed."

McCoy remained on the bridge when the Enterprise went to warp speed. He wasn't alarmed when Chekov called out that the water main's emergency valve was open. It was only when Spock contacted security to inform them intruders were on board that he realized what was happening.

"Romulans?" Sarek asked.

Spock glanced at McCoy. "Wild stallions."

_Jim? How in tarnation did he beam aboard?_

Spock asked the same question when the "intruders" were escorted to the bridge.

Jim's answer seemed calculated to offend. McCoy stood silently along with the rest of the crew, wondering what the hell his friend was trying to accomplish. Provoking Spock into opening a can of whoopass?

He did a stellar job.

Luckily for Jim, Sarek kept Spock from choking him into unconsciousness. McCoy wouldn't have been so kind. He didn't doubt Jim was acting according to some plan, but the ends didn't justify the means.

Spock, looking devastated by his actions and more human than McCoy would ever have believed, said, "Doctor, I am no longer fit for duty."

Starfleet regulation 619.

When Spock left, McCoy said, "Well, congratulations, Jim. We've got no captain and no goddamned first officer to replace him."

"Yeah, we do."

McCoy watched his friend sit in the captain's chair and had only one thing to say when Sulu said Pike made Jim first officer.

"You gotta be kidding me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to admit how much time was spent researching lungworms, how people get them, the pathophysiology, how they're diagnosed and treated. I now will say no thank you if I'm ever offered kejang, freshwater crabs pickled in soybean sauce, and vow to only eat cooked freshwater fish, even if I'm in a survivor situation and can't make fire. Lung flukes can live twenty years or more. They deposit eggs into the bronchi. Oh, the horror! :D
> 
> Bones' poster is based on a real one—that's why it's an antique in the future, heh.
> 
> In the moments recognizable from the film, I used select quotes along with McCoy's summarized view because I want to show what happens behind the scenes, not rewrite the script. I hope readers enjoyed the balance, and the chapter.


	4. Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acting on feelings and no regrets.

_Attention crew of the Enterprise . . . ._

Christine went from dreaming of one man to listening to the voice of another on the ship's intercom. She recognized James Kirk's name. Several friends had attended his inquiry.

_I'm ordering a pursuit course of the enemy ship to Earth. I want all departments at battle stations and ready in ten minutes. Either we're going down . . . or they are. Kirk out._

She stopped trying to puzzle out how a suspended cadet became acting captain. Whatever the reason, she supported his decision. Their families, their homes, everything would be lost if Earth shared Vulcan's fate. They had to stop the Romulans.

Christine clambered out of bed. It took only a minute to grab a uniform—a white tunic and pants for higher visibility—and hunt for her lucky socks. Pale green, each with white rabbits hopping among pink and yellow tulips, the socks were old and thin, with patches of embroidery floss on the toes where her Gran had mended the holes.

With no time to waste, she dressed and ran a brush through her hair, leaving it loose. Makeup was reduced to the basics: a dusting of powder and a swipe of lip-gloss. She ran to catch the lift before the turbo doors closed.

Inside the crowded lift, Christine nodded politely to a young woman who stared at her with round brown eyes. She recognized the ensign as one of the group who saw her with Bones. The hope that their meeting would go unmentioned was dashed as the ensign cleared her throat.

"Ahem, excuse me, Lieutenant." When Christine glanced her way, the ensign said, "My friends and I, we were wondering . . . was the man you were with earlier the new CMO?"

It might have been imagination, but it seemed as though every woman in the lift waited breathlessly for the answer.

"Yes," Christine said. "Dr. McCoy escorted me to my quarters." That he stayed was nobody else's business.

The collective exhale was audible.

Christine's lips twitched. On the brink of battle, with their planet in danger, interest in gossip remained steadfast. The quirk of human nature was oddly comforting.

"He's very handsome," the ensign said. "One of my friends wants to know if he’s, uh, available."

"He isn't." Christine kept her gaze focused on the doors and pretended not to hear the ensign's sigh of disappointment or the whispers that arose.

_Isn't she a nurse?_

_They always get doctors._

_I heard it's because they do it with intensive care._

Christine had a crazy urge to turn around and say nurses make it better, nurses call the shots, nurses do it with patience, nurses do it twenty-four/seven, nurses do it with universal precautions, and nurses do it standing up. She could rattle off a list and had, once, in a bar after passing the nurse practitioner exam. The memory of trying to balance on a wobbly table, cheered by a boisterous crowd, kept her from repeating the performance.

She walked out of the lift with her head held high. Inwardly, she cringed over providing the ship grapevine with a juicy rumor. In the light of an uncertain future, gossip wouldn't cease. It would spread all the quicker. She'd have to tell Bones what happened before he heard an exaggerated story. If she didn't, it was all too easy to imagine being called into the CMO office. Bones would sit on the edge of his desk, quirking an eyebrow.

_"What's this I hear about you slapping an ensign and telling her 'keep your hands off my man, bitch'?"_

She hadn't slapped the girl or said any such thing, but people would believe it as truth. In all honesty, Christine couldn't deny that for an instant, her emotions were volatile enough to prompt such actions. Either impending danger had unhinged her brain, or something else . . . something she hadn't dealt with before.

Christine had been the studious child, the teenager who never openly rebelled against her parents, the friend who gave sound advice, the nurse who didn't panic in a crisis. Her relationships all followed the same, gradual progression from friends or colleagues to romantic partnership. Even with her fiancé, she'd admired Roger's brilliance and his dedication to his work before she'd noticed his looks or his smile. She'd never felt the immediate, dual pull of mental and physical attraction.

Until she met "Bones" McCoy.

 

In sickbay, the patient that called out her name provided a welcome distraction from heated thoughts. "You're looking well, Mr. Roberts," Christine said. She glanced at his readings. His blood pressure was slightly elevated. "You'd rather man your station than a biobed, I'm sure," she said. "What would you be doing?"

His explanation was long and technological. Christine listened with interest, forming a hazy image of an Engineering room that resembled a brewery. She was pleased that talking relaxed her patient and lowered his blood pressure.

When he was finished, she said, "Dr. McCoy told me I might have a namesake one day."

"If it's a girl," Roberts said impishly.

Since he was clearly waiting, she asked, "What if it's a boy?"

"We'll call him Roger."

Although half expecting it, the name was still jarring to hear. Her first impulse was to reply, "Don't." Roger Korby had never wanted children. He was content to be hailed as the Louis Pasteur of archaeological medicine and wouldn't appreciate the gesture. "That's nice," she managed to say.

"I was kidding," Roberts said. "About the mix up? My fiancée loves the name Christopher. Really. She had a bear named Pooh growing up, and read the books."

"Winnie-the-Pooh," Christine said. With a little effort, she smiled. "His friend is Christopher Robin, not Christopher Really."

Roberts grinned.

She rechecked his vital signs and then made her way over to the nurses' station where nurses Davis and Johnson stood talking with Ensign Ruiz and Petty officers Williams and Kowalski. The triage team was readying to work together again.

Johnson elbowed Davis. "I told you we should have replicated that bed pan."

Davis gazed down at her petite colleague and shook her head. "No, you said, 'damn, we can't make Chapel scrub a bed pan if she returns on captain's orders'." She looked to Ruiz for confirmation. "Didn't she?"

"Don't drag me into it," he said. "I know better than to step in the middle of a fight between women."

"Because of your sisters?" Christine asked.

Williams snorted. "They were sisters, all right . . . but not his sisters."

"Identical twins," Ruiz said. "Who knew? I thought was dancing twice with the same girl."

Johnson rolled her eyes. "Men."

Williams and Kowalski protested and Ruiz claimed to be an innocent victim. Christine studied their faces and thought a more accurate description would have been "boys." They—and most of the male crew—were so young. Even the new captain's voice rang with boyish bravado instead of the maturity of Pike, Spock, or McCoy.

_Bones McCoy._

She knew his given name was Leonard, but the thought of calling him that was too strange, too formal. Leonard was a name suited to a plantation owner, or a doctor who saw more patients on the golf course than in an examination room. Bones was rugged. Manly. It conjured images of the old west "sawbones" who used ingenuity and skill to save lives.

The name also brought to mind her dream, in which a song learned from her Gran in childhood became adult foreplay. Christine's lips had just connected the knee bone to the thighbone when reality had intruded.

"Here's the fun you missed out on," Johnson said, handing over a PADD.

Christine yanked her thoughts out of the bedroom and concentrated on the work at hand. In her absence, the staff had treated an impressive number of green-coded minor injury patients, biobed occupancy lowered to fifty percent and the primary sickbay and medical aid stations were restocked with equipment and supplies. She said, "Dr. Puri was right, this crew is the best of Starfleet."

"That's what I told  _mi mama_ ," Ruiz said somberly. "I hope it's true."

"It is. Captain Kirk beat the Kobayashi Maru test, and he'll find a way to beat the Romulans." Christine spoke with conviction. She couldn't afford doubts.

Ruiz said, "Commander Spock said Kirk cheated."

Christine was tired of negativity. "All the better. I'd rather cheat death than die."

"Me too!" Davis cried, loud enough for heads to turn.

A few minutes later, Bones strode in. He didn't have to call for attention. Conversations halted. "As I speak," he said, "the captain and first officer are risking their lives to save ours." His piercing gaze traveled over each member of staff. "Wish them luck, say a prayer, we'll hope for the best. To prepare for the worst, Dr. Howard and Dr. Eliot, along with Nurses Tompkins, Barton, and Saad will set up a triage center in shuttlebay for possible evacuees. Everyone else—" His eyes rested on Christine for a breathtaking moment. "Will maintain readiness."

While the shuttlebay group asked questions, Christine turned to Johnson. "Want to make the rounds?"

"Continuity of care is our sacred trust."

"I thought that was patient confidentiality."

"Not to the powers-that-be trembling in fear of litigation."

The sandy-haired nurse's humor was amusingly dark. She wasn't a sunny blonde, yet neither was Christine.  _I'm not ditzy and I don't have more fun, either._ "I think Starfleet Medical has bigger worries."

"For  _now._ "

Dr. Gottesman joined them on their rounds. His thin, hawk-nosed face creased in a smile over Technician Robert's progress.

"Oh my God, proof he has teeth," Johnson whispered. "You're my witness. Davis owes me a beer."

Christine surreptitiously glanced around. The team had left for the shuttlebay and Bones was nowhere in sight. She experienced an unfamiliar, panicky feeling. What if the Romulans attacked and she never saw him again? She concentrated on her breathing and thought rationally.  _He must be in his office._

At the end of rounds, she said, "I'll go give the CMO the report" and marched off before Johnson could offer to do it for her. She found him standing arms-crossed, gazing at ship schematic on the wall.

He turned his head. "Is something wrong?" When she didn't answer, he moved toward her. "Tell me."

"If these are my last minutes, I don't want to spend them regretting I never acted on my feelings." Christine set the PADD down. "I know it's the wrong place and the wrong time." Exhilarated and scared to death, she closed the gap between them and rose up on tiptoe to slide her arms around his neck.

"Aw, hell," Bones said as her mouth sought his. He returned her kiss with a passion that made her open wider, cling tighter, and delve deeper.

"I don't know if the door locks," he said between kisses. "And where? The desk? The wall?" He groaned. "You deserve better."

She wanted to laugh, sigh and merge with him like a Tuvix plant all at the same time. Christine said, "I meant kissing you with everything I have, to let go of the past and hold nothing back."

Bones gave a wry sounding chuckle. "I took that literally."

"And I'd like that. Someday."

He stepped away and ran a hand over his hair. "Not in this office. That would be against regulations—like your socks."

Christine pulled up her trouser legs. "They're lucky."

Bone lifted an eyebrow. "They're teeming with rabbits."

"Only seven . . . on each side." She picked up the PADD. "Here's the latest patient data."

"I'll take your word that everything's under control."

"It's wonderful." She left before she blushed and embarrassed herself further.

 

Time went on, and patients began to complain. The Bio-bed wasn't comfortable enough; a pillow was needed, a real one, not the brick that passed for one in sickbay; one was thirsty and four others hungry. The displacement of fear and need for reassurance were the same motivations that drove staff to grumble to each other that the wait was killing them. They all wanted to  _do_ something.

The tension spiked when Bones charged out of his office. "Chapel. Williams. Follow me."

Christine grabbed her tricorder and sprinted to keep up as Bones ran for the turbolift.

"Our assistance is required in the transporter room," he said over his shoulder.

In the lift, Williams asked, "Is it the captain?"

"Both of 'em."

The doors opened, and again they jogged down a corridor, Bones in the lead. He rushed into the transporter room. "Jim!"

Christine took readings with her tricorder. Only one of the men in the room needed medical attention. Captain Pike.

Once Williams and Bones helped the injured captain to the lift, she gave the Bones the tricorder, not wanting to upset the captain by mentioning the extent of his nerve damage. She wasn't a doctor. Maybe it wasn't permanent.

Pike smiled at her. "I hope those aren't tears of sadness. I'm glad to be alive. There are no regrets."

Christine wiped her face. "I'm happy you're back with us, Captain." She looked at McCoy.

_And I have no regrets._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dem bones, dem bones gonna walk aroun' . . . .
> 
> I got a lot of inspiration this chapter from a not-just-for-kiddies song. The nurse slogans I borrowed from the humor page of realnurse dot net, which also had Doctors Save Patients, Nurses Save Doctors, and my favorite bumper sticker: Nurses Are Here To Save Your Ass, Not Kiss It. The Engineering room image was a joke about the film set, which I read actually was a brewery, and the Louis Pasteur line came from Memory Alpha.


	5. Victories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A country doctor and a steel magnolia.

McCoy had contacted sickbay to have a patient transport standing ready. When the turbolift doors opened, he was surprised to see Wen and Gottesman.

Pike said, "Pulled rank on the corpsmen, Doctors?"

"Yes, Captain," the men answered in unison.

McCoy assisted Pike onto the transport. "I'll take your end," he told Gottesman. "Go prepare the primary biobed." The neurosurgeon had completed a post-graduate fellowship in spine surgery. Pike's conditions required the doctor's full range of expertise.

"I was surprised not to see Puri," Pike said as Gottesman took off running and the transport eased into motion. "He's never stayed behind on any other mission."

Pike's gaze asked a question McCoy wished he didn't have to answer. "He's dead, sir. An explosion on Deck Six."

Pike exhaled heavily. "David Puri was a good man. A good friend."

"Yes, sir." McCoy glanced at Christine. Her eyes were misty. He wanted to comfort her but couldn't. Senior officers didn't hug subordinates, at least not in public.

Ensign Ruiz started clapping when Captain Pike entered sickbay. The rest of the staff and the patients joined in.

Pike raised his hand, a commanding presence even while lying flat. There was immediate silence. "I appreciate the sentiment, but there's a battle ahead. As you were."

McCoy and Wen transferred Pike to the biobed. The containment field generated by the overhead sensor cluster sterilized all matter within its radius and scanned the patient, displaying data on the screens of the biofunction monitor. Chapel and Johnson readied the patient and McCoy assisted Gottesman to remove the Centaurian slug from Pike's brain stem.

Afterwards, McCoy nodded to the biofunction screen displaying the scan of Pike's spinal column. "I'm just an old country doctor," McCoy said, "but it looks like the Romulans cut his spinal cord."

"A partial cut," Gottesman said. "There will be some sensation present below the level of injury."

"Preventing escape, yet allowing the prisoner to feel torture. Efficient bastards."

"And technologically superior. What's been done—" Gottesman shook his head.

Fury churned in McCoy's gut. There was no justification for committing such an atrocity.

A voice said, "Excuse me, Doctors." It was Christine.

"Yes?" McCoy snapped.

She held up a vial containing the slug. "Shall I destroy this or remove it to the lab for study?"

McCoy wanted to blast the thing with his personal phaser. "Take it to the lab," he said, tacking on "please" as an apology for displacing anger.

"Yes, sir," she said softly.

McCoy watched her go, thinking Christine personified grace under pressure. He turned to see Gottesman looking at him with an upraised brow. "What?" he asked curtly.

"Nothing, sir."

The biofunction monitor beeped. Captain Pike was coming out of anesthesia. McCoy went to break the news about his condition.

Pike took it amazingly well. "Hey, if I can flex my toes, that means I can still tap to the beat at concerts."

Gottesman nodded. "And control of the sphincters is intact."

"That's certainly a plus."

McCoy said, "There are spine clinics . . . therapies . . ."

"And I'll try them all," Pike said. "I'm not giving up, I'm accepting what I cannot change, living one day at a time."

"That's very enlightened of you," Gottesman said.

Pike grinned. "I didn't make it up. It's from the Serenity Prayer."

McCoy left the captain in Gottesman and Nurse Johnson's capable hands. To keep from walking over to Christine and asking her to give him a patient update in his office, he made his rounds.

A few minutes later, the wail of a klaxon blared. The ship shook. Supplies on tables crashed to the floor.

"Computer, is the enemy firing on us?" Pike called out.

A calm, feminine voice sounded over the alarm.  _Negative. The enemy vessel has been destroyed._

A crack appeared in the glass separating the intensive care unit from the rest of sickbay. Equipment rattled.

"What's happening?" McCoy shouted.

The computer took a moment to process.  _The gravitational pull of a black hole is damaging the structural integrity of the Enterprise._

One of the nurses broke down into sobs. McCoy yelled over the noise, "Tell me engineering found a solution, dammit!"

_Affirmative. The warp core has been ejected and will detonate in five seconds._

McCoy searched for Christine. When their eyes met, she smiled.

The ship tilted like the floor of a fun house.

Above the cries and shouts rang Captain Pike's voice. "We've blasted out of range! We made it!"

Cheers that arose that drowned out the klaxon and continued after the alarm ceased ringing.

The next hours passed in a blur of activity. After the Enterprise docked, patients were transported to the Starfleet Medical facility in San Francisco. McCoy oversaw Captain Pike's transfer. He would have liked to have asked Christine to go with them in the shuttle, but he needed her triage team to stand duty until relief arrived to care for the crew who were staying aboard.

"I'll be in touch," he said when informing her of his decision.

"I'll look forward to it."

McCoy started to walk away and turned back. "Soon," he said.

 

Christine's mouth curved in a way that played in his memory as the group accompanying Captain Pike traveled to the shuttle bay. He didn't realize someone was waiting to see them off until a hand clapped him on the shoulder.

"Bones!"

McCoy chuckled when Jim wrapped an arm around his shoulders and crowed, "I didn't go in guns blazing, but we sure went out in a blaze of glory!"

"Yippee-ki-yay," said Pike. "Excellent leadership."

Jim laughed and walked over to shake Pike's hand. "Thank you, sir. I learned from the best captain in Starfleet."

"I may not be captain much longer."

"Then you'll be admiral," Jim said.

Pike's expression was pensive, yet resigned. "There are worse fates."

"Like never reaching the stars. Thanks for talking to me,  _maaan,_ " Jim said with a grin.

McCoy had heard how Jim met Pike several times. He said, "You owe him more than thanks. A drink, at the least."

Jim told Pike, "I'll do better than that. After you bust out of the hospital, I'll throw a party to celebrate. We'll invite the crew. Bones'll make the arrangements, he's organized."

"Gee, thanks." McCoy gestured for the corpsmen to take Pike onto the shuttle.

"I'll look forward to it," Pike said.

McCoy froze. The captain didn't have a knowing twinkle in his eye or give any indication that he was repeating something he'd overheard, but what if he had? Would it matter?

No.

 

McCoy spent the trip down to the planet trying not to imagine all the ways shuttlecraft could malfunction and wondering how to ask Christine out. Should he do it when they were talking by viewer, or would it be better to drop by her house or meet in the pub?

On terra firma, he said goodbye to Pike, briefed the specialists, and was debriefed by Starfleet officials. By the time he walked out of headquarters, McCoy was hungry as a bear and just as grouchy. Academy food wouldn't hit the spot. He needed southern home cooking and lots of it. Fried chicken; spicy black-eyed peas and rice; collards and corn bread; sweet tea: the Hard Knox cafe had it all, and boxed it to go.

When he returned to the dorm, the cadets sharing the turbolift remarked how great the food smelled. McCoy told them the name of the restaurant as he exited.

The dorm was the same half ship-shape, half pigsty he'd left. Jim was a good friend but a slob roommate. He never made his bed, his clothes piled on the floor, and his desk was covered in food wrappers and drink cans. McCoy shrugged and unpacked dinner on his own meticulously clean desk. His stomach rumbled in anticipation.

As he picked up a chicken leg and took a bite, a notice flashed onto the screen of the viewer on the wall behind his desk.

_Unviewed messages: one._

McCoy finished the piece of chicken and two others, ate a square of cornbread dripping with honey, and washed it down with tea before saying, "Play message."

He expected it to be a "glad you're safe, tell me all about it" message from one of his relatives or a former colleague who'd heard he was one of the Enterprise crew. It was a shock to see his ex-wife. Barbara's face was rounder and extremely tanned. She was still pulling the old trick of lowering her head and then looking up to appear sweet and vulnerable.

"Hello, Leonard," she said. "You don't know how relieved I was to find out you were on the Enterprise, that you survived. All the news programs call you a hero. If your mother was still with us she would be so proud."

McCoy had no doubt of that. His suspicions were about Barbara's motives for contacting him three years after the divorce.

"I'm proud of you, too," she said, "and, well, since Beau and I aren't together anymore, and your cousin Suzanne told me you aren't dating anyone, I thought—" Barbara's image smiled as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. "I'd love to come to San Francisco. I miss you."

She was lyin' like a no-legged dog, hoping to use him in some scheme, probably revenge against Beauregard Lee, the divorce attorney stupid enough to cheat with her but smart enough not to make it legal.

McCoy said, "Computer, delete message and put a block on the caller." He wasn't interested in holding onto the past.

After a forkful of black-eyed peas, he amended his thought. Southern food, caring people and good times: those he would never want to leave behind. It was Barbara and bad memories he was determined to forget.

He tapped his communicator. "Nurse Chapel."

"Chapel speaking."

That was quick. He sat up straight. "It's Bones. Where are you?"

"At home."

"Where's home?" If she lived in one of the dorms, he would brush his teeth and walk right over.

"Dolores Park. It's my parents' house. They turned their basement into an apartment."

Did it have a private entrance? Would her folks call the police if he showed up?

Christine said, "It isn't dark and grim. Bay windows overlook the front garden and—"

"I'd like to see it," he said.

"Tomorrow night?"

He did need sleep, and didn't want to appear too eager. "At seven?"

"Or six. Whenever you like."

"Six it is." McCoy said goodnight before he changed the time to A.M. There was a place he could get some N'awlins-style beignets and coffee. He pictured Christine with powdered sugar on her lips and suddenly wasn't hungry for food. He put away the leftovers.

 

In the morning, he awakened to the clang of metal. Jim was shooting cans like basketballs into the recycle bin. "Morning!" he said. "The chicken in the fridge, is that from last night?"

"Yeah."

"Great! I'm starving, but I was afraid to eat it." Jim grabbed a chicken leg and held up another container. "You want the green stuff?"

"Collards," McCoy said, "And no, I want coffee."

"On your desk."

McCoy checked the time. Eight o'clock. "What are you doing up?"

"Never went to sleep. A bunch of admirals came aboard, grilled me like a steak and then took me back to headquarters for an official debriefing. By the time I was through—" Jim paused to take a drink of coffee. "I figured why bother." He tossed the chicken bone into the trash.

"And the reason why you're cleaning?" McCoy asked.

"Mom's coming to see me." Jim jerked a thumb toward his viewer. "I got the message and went straight to the galley for coffee."

Winona Kirk was a formidable woman. "When will she arrive?"

"Couple of hours, maybe less." Jim held out two bags.

McCoy reached for the trash bag, the lesser of two evils. "God only knows what's in your laundry."

"That sounds like a song." Jim hummed as he stuffed dirty clothes into the laundry sack, singing, "God only knows" every once in a while in a God-awful falsetto.

Thankfully, it only took ten minutes to clear the mess. McCoy ordered his friend to nap until Mrs. Kirk arrived and went to shower and shave. When he returned, Jim was lying face down across his newly made bed, snoring.

McCoy sat down at his desk and directed the computer to establish communication with Suzanne Baker. His cousin's face soon appeared on his viewer screen.

"Leonard!" she cried. "I was just sayin' to Mama I couldn't believe the boy who used to spit watermelon seeds at me grew up to save the planet."

"Give Aunt Ina my love," he said. "Tell her—and anyone  _else_  you think might be interested—that I'm dating someone."

Suzanne's eyes widened. "You are? Who is she? What's she like?"

"Her name's Christine, and she's a steel magnolia." Beauty, grace, and strength, those were qualities southern women prized and Christine embodied naturally.

After he finished the call, McCoy deliberated whether to ask Christine to move up the time of their date, or find an excuse to be "in the neighborhood" and drop by.

A chime sounded. They had a visitor.

"Hello, Mrs. Kirk, nice to see you," McCoy said as the door panel slid open. "I'll wake Jim."

"Don't," she said. "It's been a long time since I've watched him sleep." Her angular features softened. "I miss that part of motherhood now it's gone. I'll wait and let him rest a while longer."

"All right. Tell Jim I'll see him later. Enjoy your visit, ma'am."

"Thank you, and it's nice to see you, too, Leonard."

 

He left the dorm and hailed the first cab gliding by the Academy. He asked to be let off by the shops close to Christine's address. He made a few purchases and walked to Christine's house, a Victorian that rubbed elbows with its stately neighbors.

A woman trimming the side hedge lowered her shears. "May I help you?"

"I'm looking for Christine." He felt like a schoolboy trying not to fidget beneath a parental eye. The family resemblance told him this was Mrs. Chapel.

"She's sleeping."

A shade in the lower set of bay windows shot upward. "No, I'm not!"

He could see Christine, dressed in a robe, gesturing. "Come in, Bones!"

"The stairs to her apartment are inside the foyer to the right," Mrs. Chapel said.

"Thank you, ma'am." McCoy held the shopping bags in one hand so he could offer the other. "I'm Leonard McCoy. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Mrs. Chapel removed her gardening glove and shook his hand. "And you also, Doctor McCoy."

When he reached the door to the apartment, he found it standing open. "I'm in the bathroom, changing," Christine called, "I'll be out in a minute."

He set the bags down on the kitchen counter that also served as the dining area with stools for seating. The rectangular apartment was an open plan, allowing the bay windows to fill the space with natural light. Bedroom, sitting, and kitchen areas were uncluttered and tidy.

McCoy huffed in amusement. She must have made the bed and run to the bathroom at the opposite end of the apartment. A glimpse of black material caught his eye. He walked over. There was a robe on the floor, the long sash visible beyond the footboard.

She'd dropped the robe and streaked naked.

The click of the bathroom door opening sent McCoy hurrying away from the bed. "I took you at your word and came over whenever I liked," he said.

"I'm glad you did."

She wore a gauzy sundress that made her eyes impossibly blue. "I got food for a picnic," he said. "They didn't have a basket."

"I'll borrow one from my parents. I was thinking we'd have a picnic later actually. They're having movie night in the park, if you're interested."

He picked up a bag. "I'll put the stuff in the fridge."

They ended up going to Fisherman's Wharf, walking through the marketplace of historic Pier 39 and visiting the aquarium. For locally produced seafood, Christine brought him away from the tourist areas, to a restaurant that served warm crab rolls. The food made him sleepy.

"You need a nap," Christine said. "Why don't we go back to the house?"

Was that an invitation? He didn't want to assume. "Your sofa looked comfortable."

"It's only five feet long. The bed's big enough for two," Christine said. "I trust you'll be a gentleman."

An invitation, but not a full one. He asked, "Is a gentleman permitted a good night kiss?"

"Or two . . . or three . . . ."

Lying in bed facing each other, the first, soft, kiss was followed by kisses that became longer, and deeper, until Christine said, "Maybe I should nap on the couch."

"I trust you." McCoy shifted onto his back and closed his eyes. It was like being a teenager again, content to suffer frustration to be close to a special girl.

 

After their picnic in the park, he walked Christine home and politely declined when Mr. Chapel offered to drive him back to the Academy. Even when he was fifteen he'd never let a girlfriend's father drive him home. That was asking for trouble, or worse: a man-to-man talk.

He kissed Christine goodnight on the front porch, the first of many such kisses. Since Jim divided his time between Starfleet and taking advantage of newfound hero status to party every night, McCoy didn't think his friend noticed his absences until Jim asked at the Starfleet memorial service, "Which one's your girlfriend? Point her out."

McCoy had been looking for Christine in a section filled with nurses and medical staff. He turned his attention to his program. The list of those killed in battle filled pages.

"Fine," Jim said out the side of his mouth. "Don't tell me. Keep pretending to volunteer at the infirmary—which, it so happens, I visited last night after proving I could crush a shot glass with one hand."

McCoy couldn't reply. The service was beginning.

Afterwards, when they filed out of the Romanesque auditorium, Jim asked, "Did I mention Nurse Betty was both friendly and informative?"

McCoy scowled. "OK, I've haven't been in."

"Because of a girl."

"Woman."

"She's not a cadet?"

"Not anymore."

Jim's eyebrows shot toward his hairline. "She has her own place and you're sleeping in the dorm every night?"

"Yeah, I am." McCoy tried to explain. "She's . . . ."

"Frigid?"

"Special,  _goddamn it!_ " McCoy's voice had risen, causing several people to give him disapproving glares. "Hell's bells," he muttered.

Outside, Jim asked, "What's her name?" When there was no answer, he said, "Tell your secret and I'll tell mine."

"You first."

Jim glanced around as if to make sure no one was in hearing range and then said, "My party will be a double celebration. Our victory over the Narada . . . and my promotion to captain of the Enterprise!"

_You gotta be kidding me._  McCoy stifled his first, cynical response, preferring to have faith that Jim was the best man for the job. "Congratulations!"

"I want you to be chief medical officer."

"Same staff as before?"

"Shouldn't be a problem."

"Thanks, Jim." McCoy strode toward the dorm. If she was home—

"Hey! You didn't tell me her name!"

McCoy yelled over his shoulder, "It's Christine!"

 

She'd gone straight home after the memorial service. On screen, her eyes were watery and the tip of her nose was pink. He said, "I'm coming over," jogged downstairs and flagged a cab.

Christine ran outside to meet him, throwing her arms around him in a hug he returned with equal fierceness. "They shouldn't have died, it wasn't fair," she said in a tear-choked voice.

"No, it wasn't."

She pressed closer, body shaking with her emotions.

He stroked her hair, her arms. "I should've asked you to sit with me. I'm sorry."

"It was—"

"Me being selfish, not wanting anyone to find out, not wanting to share your attention." McCoy felt guilty and ready to make things right. "That's going to change," he said. "Starting now."

"Christine?" her mother called from inside.

He took her hand and pulled her toward the sidewalk. "Starting later," he said, leading her to the park.

They sat on a bench, fingers entwined, watching people enjoy the balmy day. "Jim's going to be captain of the Enterprise," McCoy said. "He's appointed me chief medical officer and I'd like you to be head nurse."

Christine's smile was the most beautiful thing in the universe. "I'll only call you Bones outside sickbay," she said. "On duty, it's Doctor McCoy."

"Deal," he said, sealing it with a kiss.

 

On the night of the party, McCoy was listening with half an ear to the hotel manager's assurances that the catering staff was the best in the city when Christine entered the ballroom. She wore a strapless white gown that made him forget how much he disliked wearing a tuxedo. He went to meet her.

"You've done a wonderful job," Christine said.

"Thanks." He kissed her hand and heard a splutter of laughter. McCoy said, "Let me introduce you to my friends."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The irony of this ending doesn’t escape me. In the second alternate timeline film, it’s heavily implied that Jim Kirk is the reason Nurse Chapel is serving on the outer frontier instead of the Enterprise. I remember thinking, “F-you, whoever came up with that. You rogered my idea for a Roger Korby story!” Ah, well, maybe in the future.
> 
> In this chapter, like the first, I used the name and ambience of a real establishment in San Francisco. The Hard Knox cafe is located in the Dogpatch neighborhood and looks like a shack with corrugated metal walls and old signs nailed up everywhere. General Beauregard Lee is the name of a groundhog on a ranch near Atlanta who gives Punxsutawney Phil a run for his money. The phrase "butter wouldn't melt in her mouth" I've always heard referred to someone who appears innocent or sweet and isn't, which fits Barbara, who deservedly felt low as a toad in a dry well when McCoy never returned her call. God Only Knows is a classic Beach Boys song, and it was fun to imagine Jim, goofy with sleep deprivation, trying to hit the high notes.

**Author's Note:**

> “He was born with a gift of laughter and the sense that the world was mad” is the opening to the classic novel Scaramouche. Raphael Sabatini liked his line so much he had it put on his tombstone. I liked it so much I borrowed it for the summary. The name of The Plough and Stars is the name of an Irish pub in San Francisco, and Astro Pop is a real drink. McCoy graduated from the University of Mississippi in both Prime and Alternate realities, so I took the liberty of giving him family in that state. In the original series, he quoted Shakespeare, was fond of mint juleps, and said the "I can cure a rainy day," and "house calls" lines. I hope readers enjoyed the quotes from the original and alternate realities and look forward to the next chapter. :)


End file.
